“Hard not to when someone loaded a ‘Don’t Forget to Call Your Mother’ playlist on my phone.”
She chuckles, and the clenching in my stomach eases a bit at the familiar sound. “And yet here I am callingyou.”
“I was too busy listening to ancient Complaint Rock.”
“Horrible child!”
I snicker then turn on my windshield wipers. What was once a light mist has gone full-on rain. Great. “What’s up?”
“What’s that noise?” Mom says over me.
“Mother Nature’s wrath. It’s raining like hellfire now.”
“Maybe you should get off the road.”
“I’m in the middle of nowhere. I’m not getting off until I’m there.”
“Why on earth are you in the middle of nowhere? The house is in the suburbs.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to my map app. I’ve been sent a weird-ass circuitous route to avoid an accident backup.”
Mom’s voice grows tight. “Now I’ll worry about you until you’re there.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?” By the quiet concern in her voice, I know she’s not asking about my driving anymore.
My hands tighten on the wheel. “I’m fine, Mom. There’s nothing more to talk about.”
We’d said all there was to say without totally devolving into a full-on fight. And I’m not eager to continue.
The windshield wipers squeak-squawk as tension stretches between us. But then she sighs in resignation.
“At least tell me you’re close.”
I glance at the little map on my car’s screen. I might not have my own place at the moment, but thanks to my mom, I’ve had a nice car to drive while visiting her in Boston for the week before my final semester of college begins. I am not even a little ashamed. It’s keeping me safe and dry right now. “About five minutes out. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing.” Mom sounds way too casual.
“Uh-huh.”
“I was just wondering if you saw the news about Luck.”
That clenching in my stomach? It returns full force. I glare into the dark blur of the night. “Luck?”
Mom’s not fooled for an instant. She’s my mom, after all. “Little Augie Luck?”
He’s not so little now. And he’s never been “Augie” to me.
Sweat-slicked skin, ripped muscles framed by that ridiculous purple faux fur coat.Are you not entertained?
Jackass.
My fingers flex on the wheel. When had they grown so sweaty? Ick. “No, I haven’t seen the news.”
There’s a beat in which Mom absorbs my lie and lets it pass.
I shoot a defiant glare in the direction of the phone. I do not need to talk about August Jackass Luck and his increasing listof frankly baffling tom-fuckery moves. It’s hard enough to get away from it in normal life. And given where I’m headed? My mother bringing up “Augie” is just too much.
